


piercing lights in the dark (make the galaxy ours)

by riverdanceeee



Series: the klance playlist [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Artist Lance (Voltron), Beach kisses, Beaches, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Minor Swearing, Romance, Stargazing, Stars, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a lot of kisses, a lot of talk about the stars, city, crappy boss, especially at the end i rlly can't believe i wrote that, idk how to tag this, lance and windows, lance loves keith's neck...the end, or at least it felt like i wrote a lot of kisses idk what i did, space talk, that tag doesnt make sense but if ya ;) read this ;) it do, they drink wine one time, they're in love, two (2) star wars references, we got some um...light langst, word vomit probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 03:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverdanceeee/pseuds/riverdanceeee
Summary: Keith cups Lance’s cheeks in his hands and looks him in the eyes. Keith’s eyes are beautifully purple and he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t gotten lost in them before. “Is that why you’ve been staring out the window lately? Looking for stars?"Lance pauses. “Missing them.”Things the city offers: a job, a home, a getaway, a cute cafe downstairs.Things the city does not offer: the stars.Lance has never been without the stars.





	piercing lights in the dark (make the galaxy ours)

**Author's Note:**

> inspo: ["stars" by alessia cara](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyR0XE3tJNs)

There weren’t a lot of boxes to be checked off when Lance and Keith went apartment hunting four months ago. Listed were a decent-sized living room, a kitchen they could both walk in, one bathroom, two bedrooms (though one would be just fine), and a view of the city. That last amenity was Lance’s cherry on top—panoramic windows lining the wall from floor to ceiling, showing the gleaming lights of the city that would be their new home. Keith told him that’d be difficult to find in their price range, but Lance didn’t believe for a second they wouldn’t find something.

Lance teased Keith for weeks after they leased the apartment with the desired view under their price range.

After the years in space and attacks on Earth, Keith and Lance decided the Garrison wasn’t for them anymore. It no longer offered the comfort it had before. Bittersweet memories plagued it, unsettling their hearts and minds each minute. The Garrison was no place for the two of them to grow, to be free of the past that swallowed their youths and threatened to separate them at every chance. They wanted to start anew together, and if it meant staying away from the place that brought them together, they were willing to do so.

Now, they’ve adjusted to the city. On weekdays, Keith manages to successfully annoy every driver on the streets with his motorcycle, getting to his mechanics job in fifteen minutes because he’s speeding between cars. Lance scored a job as a concept artist for a gaming company downtown, which lets him work at home if he wants to, but he likes to go to the studio often.

Today was one of those days Lance decided to work from home. In fact, the past week has been made up of those days. He hasn’t been to the studio since they assigned him his latest project—concept art for an intergalactic alien war centered on the made-up planets of Melize and Serebruck. He was given character sketches and a rough storyline to help him, but besides that, everything was left up to him. Of course it was. Just his luck his employer gives him space content, despite not knowing he was in space for three years of his life.

Sometimes home is a better work environment. The modern space, lush with navy blues, whites, and greys, beats Lance’s dull, brown office he hasn’t had time to decorate yet. The apartment complex also has so many amenities, like the pool on the roof and the gym downstairs, that he has plenty of things to do on break. Their kitchen and living room share the same space, meaning going to grab snacks during a movie is no big deal, and they’re always lit by the panoramic window.

Lance is painting in Melize’s night sky when the apartment door swings open. He glances up to look at Keith, hair wonderfully disheveled from his helmet and an oily sheen glistening off his cheekbones. It’s a look Lance never gets tired of. He’s convinced only Keith can pull it off because Lance has seen hoards of bike gangs without their helmet on, and not a single one holds a candle to Keith’s effortless beauty.

Keith’s eyes latch onto Lance. His small smile lights up the whole room, but he isn’t going to tell him that. He looks back to his drawing tablet, moving the pen once more. He’s only a little upset at Keith, so he won’t deny him _too_ much of his presence.

“Hey,” Keith greets, closing the door behind him and throwing his keys on the kitchen counter beside him.

“Hey,” Lance greets back, carefully choosing a bright white to draw in the stars. “It’s late.”

“I had to close. Still working on that concept art?”

“Yeah. It’s all I have to do.”

“Can I see it?” Keith sounds closer than before. Lance resists every urge to look up from the tablet.

“I told you I can’t show it to you. It’s a secret.” It’s not that Lance isn’t allowed to tell Keith what he’s doing, it’s more that he doesn’t want to tell him. He’s drawing over exaggerated versions of space. He’s touching the subject of _space_ after not doing so for so long. The least thing he wants to do is bring Keith into the mess of it.

The fridge door opens and he’s much closer than before. Only the bar counter Lance is working on separates them now. “What if I’m your boyfriend?”

“Kelly Marie Tran couldn’t even tell her own family she was casted in a Star Wars film.”

A gloved hand reaches for his drawing hand, pen falling to the side as Keith holds Lance’s hand in his. Lance follows the movement, then looks up towards his face. The warm yellow glow of their kitchen light halos behind Keith while the city night lights behind Lance scatter wondrous shades of blue and white over his face. Put him in the most decrepit lighting and he’s still ethereal. Keith’s thumb outline his knuckles, eyebrows slightly scrunched together, then he brings Lance’s hand up towards him and kisses it.

“Your hand is going to cramp if you keep this up, you’ve been at it for weeks” he warns as he intertwines their fingers. Lance pouts at him, but Keith only smiles back. “Now you look at me. What’s up?”

“I’m mad at you,” Lance says. He begins to save his work with his free hand, deciding once and for all that he’s done enough for the day.

“About what?”

He raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to figure it out on his own. Keith stares back, seeming to recollect his memories, then rolls his eyes. Lance lets out a tiny laugh.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up before leaving,” he sighs.

“You know I like to see your pretty face before you go.”

“You know I don’t like to deprive you of your sleep.”

This habit came about after a particularly rough day out in space. The two of them had already started dating and often slept in each other’s bed. Keith always woke up before Lance did and let him sleep in. It was when Keith had to go on a solo mission that he almost lost his life. Lance decided then that every second mattered tenfold and asked Keith if he could wake him right when he gets up. It meant their day could start earlier, they may stay in bed longer, and no time was being wasted.

Lance is completely aware that Keith steals a couple moments to himself. He’ll wake up early and let Lance sleep in. He figures he just watches him disgustingly snore, moves his hair around or tries to fall back into sleep himself. Regardless, Lance isn’t a big fan. However, they’re no longer swaying between dying and _almost_ dying. A few stolen moments doesn’t hurt anybody. It’s safer here. It’s safer on Earth.

Keith walks over to the other side of the counter to be next to Lance. Threading his hand through Lance’s brown locks, Keith leaves a kiss on his forehead and travels down, a peck on the tip of his nose, and lastly on his lips. Lance contently hums.

“You’re not depriving me of anything, Keith,” he whispers against his lips. “Not anymore.”

Keith smirks. “So I don’t have to make up for it?”

“Yes you do.”

Keith chuckles and drops one last kiss on him before he returns to back to the fridge. “I ate. Did you?”

“I got something from the cafe downstairs.” Lance was too lazy to cook anything and he needed to dedicate the majority of his time to his concept art. He wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible before he dwelled on it too long.

Lance twists in his bar stool to look at the view behind him. The cityscape before him has always been so fascinating at night. Down below, smears of red and beige zoom past the streets. Blue and white lights bounce off the buildings and illuminate their little home, free of charge. Past the skyline is the stretch of the night sky, the only lights in its dark being airplanes traveling high above. This is what Lance wanted to see for the rest of his days. He wanted to see something different. No more large expanses of barren deserts or empty space lurking with varying types of danger. Past the glass windows is a very real image of life, of _normalcy._

But his heart stutters in his chest at the sight tonight. It’s all Lance has ever wanted. To live among others, to be away from everything he’s ever known, to have jobs they like, to take up a new adventure and live with his lovely boyfriend in a city they know no one in. In this moment, he realizes there’s something missing in the narrative. Something that should be the pattern between all four places he’s lived before.

“Lance?”

Lance sharply turns towards Keith’s voice. He’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. “Yeah?” Lance asks back.

“Wine and movie. To make up for this morning.”

Lance smirks. “Trying to get me tipsy of something?”

“That’s up to you.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

He looks down at his drawing tablet. Magnified on the screen is the quickly sketched shape of a bright star. Lance blinks, looks at the city behind him, then back to his painting. He zooms out to the full picture. Melize is a dark, white planet, with plains of snow piling over the ground. Burned down houses are frosted over. At the forefront of the image are footprints leading down the center, through the abandoned neighborhood. In the distance stands a lone figure, hardly registrable to the eye, gazing up at the sky. The star he drew shines in the top right corner. Melize is supposed to have a sky littered with stars.

He shuts off his tablet just as Keith passes by him to lie down on the navy couch.

Lance gets up and strides on over, ruffling Keith’s hair before he takes his spot on his lap. Keith wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him close, kissing the nape of his neck. Lance giggles at the sensation, lightly kicking Keith’s shin to make him stop.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Keith asks him.

“Something happy,” Lance decides, reaching for the control from the coffee table. He rests his hands on top of Keith’s. “We’ve had a long day.”

The two decide on _Sing Street._ Keith seems intrigued, attention changing from Lance’s neck to the television screen, but Lance falls in and out of the movie. It’s not boring—he’s very invested once the band starts making and performing original music—but his thoughts won’t leave him alone. He’s been so content here for the last couple of months, then one sudden stare out the window turns it all on its head.

Could it be his work?

Space is a touchy subject. No one but the Garrison knows who piloted Voltron, who saved Earth from an alien monarchy and annihilation. That information became classified for the safety of the paladins. Lance and Keith both carry this burden of knowledge and must hide it in hopes of living normal lives.

Lance couldn’t _reject_ his assignment. He couldn’t go, “hey boss, I really don’t want anything to do with space, even if just drawing it, because I’m quite traumatized from being trapped there for three years.” This was a _good_ job, one teenage Lance could only dream would work out as a plan B. There was no way he was going to mess this up.

However, he’d be lying if the task didn’t make him feel some negative way. Lance is being forced to pull from his memory and put it on the page. That’s his and everyone’s creative process—using real life experiences to make a genuine piece of work. Even if Melize and Serebruck aren’t real planets, and their alien inhabitants looks nothing like what Lance has seen, the story sounds familiar and the setting is too real. He’s revisiting wounds he never had the tools to stitch up in time.

There are few positives left from his time in Voltron. One, he met Keith all over again and fell in love this time. Two, he’s made numerous new friends and gotten closer with old ones. Three, it’s over. Done. No need to do _that_ again.

Negatives from his time in Voltron take up more than a page. He’s suffered mentally and physically, if the ginormous scar on his back from an explosion has anything to say. So many lives have been uselessly lost at the hand of the Galra _and_ Voltron. He cannot be excused from it. Voltron is ultimately a weapon that destroys, whether it be for the good of the universe or not. Lance’s affinity for space exploration—for the stars and comets and planets and galaxies waiting to be uncovered—has crumbled to dust. There is no affinity in something tormented by evil experiences.

Lance looks over the edge of the couch and out into the city. Light pollution is a thing of beauty and danger. It emanates from the buildings surrounding their apartment complex and flows upward to create a foggy layer over the empty night sky. An oddly dull, empty night sky. In school, he was taught it was an awful consequence to technological innovation. Fake sources of light wasting energy for an entire night only did two things: ruin the environment and keep thieves from entering businesses. His teachers would always say, “Imagine the moon being the only source of light at night,” and Lance would scoff. Been there, done that. Cuban hometown, _son._

A chaste kiss to his jaw scares Lance out of his daze. Keith pulls him closer as they lie down together, back propped up against some pillows. Lance relaxes against his boyfriend’s torso.

“You okay?” Keith asks, landing another kiss on his temple this time.

“Mhm,” Lance softly moans. He raises his hand to cup the back of Keith’s head and bring him down for a proper kiss. Keith sighs into it just as Lance pulls away.

“Liking the night sky today or something?”

Lance smiles at him, then looks over at the screen.

 

******

 

“Lance.”

A warm hand smoothes over his bicep, coercing him awake. Lance’s eyes crack open, blurry vision taking in large amounts of red in the dark bedroom.

“Lance, I have to go.”

Lance rubs his eyes and blinks until he can see clearly. Keith hovers above Lance in his bright red jacket. The window to the right of Lance casts soft blue beams over Keith’s delicate eyes. He smiles at him, leaning down to kiss his cheek. His freshly washed hair brushes against his skin.

“The sun’s not even out,” Lance argues with a yawn. Groggily, he wraps his arms around Keith’s neck, keeping him close. “Why are you awake?”

“I have to open up. I left some breakfast for you.”

Lance narrows his eyes. “So you _didn’t_ wake me up when you got up.”

Keith rolls his eyes and attacks Lance with kisses; around his face, down his neck, over his collarbone, wherever he can reach. Lance lightly laughs as he fiddles with the ends of Keith’s hair. Keith drinks in his laugh and kisses his lips softly, angling himself to get a better taste.

“I’ve got to go, babe,” Keith mumbles against him. “Are you going to the studio today?”

 _The studio._ He hasn’t been there in almost two weeks. Something about sitting at a desk for hours as he racks his brain for inspiration is less appealing than doing the same thing but at home. Lance’s boss is oddly enough fine with it too. She said she has enough trust in him to get this right.

“I’m staying home again,” Lance announces. “Still don’t feel like going.”

Keith nods. “Then I’ll see you in the afternoon. ”

“Love you.”

Pressing one last kiss to his lips, Keith exits their bedroom. Lance listens to his footsteps echo against the tile floors then the door softly shutting. He pulls his blanket up over his chest and looks at the empty space next to him.

Lance hates being alone. He ends up talking to himself and thinking too much. This time, he’s busy with making art, but that doesn’t seem to make the situation any different. He halted his work on Melize’s stars and finished three other pieces with intense difficulty. Serebruck is practically identical to the rocky planet he crash landed on crawling with tantalizing spirits. He drew a ghostly enemy looming over the main character, who is desperately trying to back away from the monster. In the second piece, the main character wields a rifle against a horde of enemy soldiers, much like he did everyday. His final painting is a battle between multiple space ships, several explosions going off in the back and lasers shot across the image. Again, much like he did everyday.

Each painting opened up a wound. His mind didn’t have to imagine it. The scenarios could be pinpointed in his memories from the past three years and plucked out like a feather. Lance usually spaces out time to work on his art between several days, but he finished these projects within a couple hours. The layers, the colors, brush styles, miniscule details—all quickly chosen so he could finish the piece and the memories in his brain could stop replaying.

Lance turns his head towards the window. Keith must have opened the curtains before he left. The window, like the one in their living-room-kitchen, extend from the floor to the ceiling, but this one only takes up about a third of the wall. From their room, a view of the biggest park in the city can be seen, green stretching for miles and miles. A heavy fog coats the city levels below their apartment. The night is coming to an end, soon turning into its morning gray haze.

He can’t see the moon and he can’t see the stars. His heart skips a beat in the worst way.

Lance’s eyes shift down to his drawing tablet on his bedside table. He turns away from the window and attempts to fall back asleep.

 

******

 

Lance doesn’t know how long he’s been here.

He stands with his arms crossed in his cold living area. The bedroom was warm, especially because Keith threw himself over Lance like a leech, so he slept shirtless.

Or more like _didn’t_ sleep. He tried to, but he’s been up for hours. Lance watched Keith fall asleep against him, quietly snoring on his chest. He gets why Keith likes to steal these moments. Looking at the love of his life curled up against him, sleeping peacefully without the dawn of war being a virus running in his veins, made Lance’s heart radically flutter in his chest. Time and time again, he’s reminded why it was so easy to fall in love with him and why he still does so.

However Lance himself wasn’t falling asleep anytime soon. Insomnia wasn’t eating away at him, his thoughts were. When Keith rolled onto the other side of the bed, Lance thought it best he grab himself a glass of water to ease him to sleep.

Then he got caught up at the window. It’s the middle of the night, and rather than fixating on the tranquil city below, he’s busy observing the sky above. Void-like and dark, empty and unsettling. The yellow crescent moon is heavily clouded over.

His concept art is due in two days. He’s finished everything but the final stars on the Melize piece. He doesn’t know why he can’t draw them, can’t put the pen to the screen and draw some stupid dots. His painfully clear memories of war show him the stars but don’t urge him to draw them.

Cities, infamously, are vacant of stars. Lance knew this, but after growing up in Cuba, spending his preteen years in Florida, going to school in the desert, and living in space, he never thought he’d be ridding himself of the fiery orbs. They went everywhere with him. Twenty two years being with the stars, four months living without them.

Those are the old days. His days with stars are bittersweet. It’s only now, revisiting space in concept, that he notices he’s been without them. That he misses something he loved so much.

Now they’re gone.

Lance goes to sit at the bar counter in the kitchen. He turns on his drawing tablet and opens the Melize file, immediately zooming in on the blank sky he’s painted. The pen is in his hands. All he has to do is pick a color and draw the stars.

The longer he stares, the worse he feels, and the more he wants to finish this up. Lance firmly shuts his eyes. His brain wills him to think of something, _anything,_ that will inspire him.

He thinks of the streets of a beachside town in Cuba. It’s empty of streetlights and business hours are coming to an end, but the moon shines the place brightly enough. The cool summer ocean breeze feels sticky against his skin. His siblings race him to the dock, sandals clacking against wet asphalt, and Lance—six years old, max—runs to catch up to them. All four of them laugh, childish melody echoing through the streets, until they catch their breath at the end of the wooden dock. They sit on the edge, legs dangling over the warm water below. His brother points out different sets of stars—Orion, Taurus, Gemini—and tells the myths of each. Lance and his sisters sit there in awe, fascinated with the spectacle of stars before them. It was their last day in Cuba, their last day at _home._

He thinks of the tiny city in Florida. His dad bought them the illegal type of fireworks to set off into the night on a crisp fourth of July. Lance watches his sister light up a row and back away as quickly as possible. They shoot into the sky one at a time, sparks of red, white, and blue spreading over in wide circles. He covers his ears because the cackle is so loud, but he still admires the view. His family cheers and begins to set up the next round. When the smoke clears from the sky, Lance notices Orion’s belt shining through. It’s the only set of stars that came with him.

He thinks of the Garrison roof in an Arizona desert. Building lights are mostly off, save for the few laboratories, and the bell for curfew rings through the area. Lance facetimes his mom states away. He’s holding back tears because he bombed his test and he isn’t sure if he’ll be admitted to the next school year. He profusely apologizes as his mom does her best to comfort him in Spanish. All his hard work gone down the drain. She asks why he’s outside on such a cold night and he doesn’t know why. He shrugs and tells her he’ll call another time. He lies against the cold metal roof, freezing the nerves in his back, and takes deep breaths. He counts each star speckle to calm down and pass the time.

He thinks of the main hull in the Castle of Lions. In the center is the holographic map of the galaxy with a tiny figure of their ship floating through space. He continuously swipes back, arm beginning to tire, until he reaches Earth. They’re so far away. He zooms in close enough to tell the continents apart. Looking at the distance between Cuba and Florida, he realizes his homes aren’t _that_ far apart. Then he observes the distance between Florida and Arizona, Cuba and Arizona, Cuba and Florida and Arizona, Earth and wherever the fuck he is, and his heart breaks. _He’s_ the one who’s far away. Lance turns off the holographic map and stares out into the scary depths of space. There aren’t any planets in sight, but the stars blare in all their fury.

Lance frantically pokes at the screen. Angry white dots disperse over the navy sky of Melize. His grip on the pen tightens. No point in highlighting them. No point in giving them little halo edges. No point in caring about the piece anymore. There’s no point, no point, no _point—_

His bedroom door creaks open and the pen falls out of his hand. Lance snaps his head towards a half-awaken Keith, clad in black pajama pants and a blue t-shirt. His hair is tied up into a pineapple floof at the top of his head, just the way Lance loves it. He blinks his eyes to adjust to the enormous amount of blue light coming through.

“Babe it’s almost four in the morning,” Keith whispers into the silent room.

Lance looks at the digital clock on his stove reading 3:54 A.M. He grimaces.

Keith saunters over to him and hugs Lance from behind. His chin rests on Lance’s shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

Lance spins the stool so he’s facing Keith. He looks so tired. His eyes are extremely hooded, aren’t fully open yet, and he barely has the energy to keep his head up. Lance immediately feels bad. They’re both light sleepers, but Keith’s Galra blood means he has a keen sense of everything around him. In the past, Lance would wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares, just as Keith did. Used to rising at any sudden change, they’d both be there for each other just in time. The nightmares has lessened now and both can go a full night's sleep without any interruption. Still, a rat in the walls could probably awaken Keith. So Lance leaving bed may have worried him more than he needed to be.

“Couldn’t sleep, that’s all,” he assures him. “Go back to bed.”

“Go back to bed _with_ me, punk.”

Lance laughs and kisses the corner of his mouth. He tucks himself under Keith’s chin, pulling him closer by his waist. Keith’s fingers trace the edges of the scar on Lance’s back. He tends to do that. They weren’t dating when the accident happened—Lance didn’t even have feelings for him yet—but now he knows Keith did have a crush on him then. Lance remembers his worry, remembers how he tried to hide it. He showed him the scar one night in his room. It had been an insecurity then, a permanent wound from a war he never wanted to be in engraved into his skin, but Lance knew that if they were going to open up to each other, this was his first step. Besides, he had a feeling Keith wanted to know the aftermath of the event. He’ll never forget how delicately Keith touched it, as if he might tear the healed skin if he pressed to hard, and the soft kisses he peppered all over his back. It was enough to let him know how he felt. _This is what it’s like to be loved,_ he learned back then.

“Drawing the stars?” Keith asks.

Lance heavily sighs. “They don’t even look like stars.”

Keith cups Lance’s cheeks in his hands and looks him in the eyes. Keith’s eyes are beautifully purple and he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t gotten lost in them before. “Is that why you’ve been staring out the window lately? Looking for stars?”

Lance pauses. “Missing them.”

Keith smiles sincerely and leans down to take his lips. It’s chaste and lazy, considering the hour of night. Keith, he feels, has always been better at this. Better at anything and everything. His timing is precise and sometimes convoluted, but leaves Lance in a whirlwind he refuses to find a way out of. A kiss is fine at any time, but Keith knows when it’s necessary, when it needs to ground him on quaking floors and keep him afloat in rapid waters.

Lance lost himself back there. Keith may have seen his disgusting effort at drawing stars, connected it with his mood and habits lately, and solved the puzzle. A kiss won’t fix his problems, but it’ll aid him for now.

He’s getting tired and pulls away, eyes staying closed for an extra second longer. Keith smirks at him.

“Sleepy now?” he asks and steps away from him.

“Think so,” Lance admits. He gets off the stool and takes Keith’s hand. “I’ll go to bed with you, _punk._ ”

 

******

 

Lance replays the afternoon in his head.

_“We looked over your concept art this morning,” his boss said, sitting on an annoyingly big leather office chair, “and we have some points to make.”_

Lance parks his car in the apartment lot and removes the engine key. He gathers his bags on the passenger seat, grabs his cup of coffee, then exits the vehicle.

_“They’re not good,” she broke to Lance. His back straightened and his eyes narrowed, confused at the response._

Lance presses the elevator button to go up. Two people stand behind him. He anxiously waits. He just wants to rest. He just wants to see Keith. He just wants to get home.

The elevator door cracks open and him, along with the others, get inside. Lance presses the eighth floor. One of them stretches over to press the second floor. His leg bounces as he watches the numbers increase. P, L, 1, 2…

The strangers leave Lance alone. He scarfs down the coffee in his hand. Caffeine intake only makes his heart beat faster in his chest.

_“M-May I ask why?” Lance nervously asked. His hands were sweaty and hidden behind his back. He’s hoping for criticisms._

_“Well, first, it’s extremely rushed. I can tell because I compared it to your other works. You wanted to get over with this, didn’t you? Is that what this job means to you?”_

Lance takes a deep breath in and exhales. Repeat. Deep breathe in and exhale. Again. 3, 4, 5…

He doesn’t want to break down in the elevator. There’s cameras and he already looks suspicious as it is. Whoever’s watching will laugh at him. He doesn’t want to be alone when the waterworks break loose. Keith has the day off and he’s home, he’s his _home_. He just wants to be with Keith, cry into his shoulder and hear his soft whispers in his ear telling Lance it’s alright. He needs to hear it from him. His opinion is all that matters anyways.

_“Second, the team doesn’t think you fit all the criteria in. It’s supposed to be a lively setting, with enthusiastic characters ready at a moment’s notice to fight for their home! Think...Think Luke Skywalker. A happy fellow, right? We want several Luke Skywalker’s in this game. You painted morose images, morose characters who don’t look happy to be doing what they’re doing. Like they didn’t choose to be here when they very much did.”_

Luke Skywalker. _Luke Skywalker_ got dragged into an intergalactic war. He didn’t want to do it, but he did because he knew he had to defeat evil. A happy fellow on the outside, a lost and stressed character on the inside. Lance grew up on Star Wars, always found more of himself in Han Solo than Luke. One lion launches him into space and everything about the saga becomes some sort of twisted reality. Some of it was true—fighter jets, looming evil, weird as fuck aliens—and some of it was false—he didn’t have a princess for a sister, or the freaking _Force_ with him.

Of course the game company would want a fantasized, picturesque interpretation of his nightmare.

6, 7, 8.

The elevator doors slide open. Lance steps out and quickly makes his way to his apartment at the end of the hall. The paper coffee cup is thrown into a trash can he passes by.

Lance ruffles through his messenger bag looking for his keys. His drawing tablet blocks him from reaching anything inside. He huffs and pulls the device out, throwing it on the ground and continuing his search. Crumpled paper clutters the bottom. He can’t even hear the metal jangle, can’t feel the cool silver against his fingertips, and God why is he such a mess, why can’t he keep things in order, _why?_

_“Third...Lance, this doesn’t look like space.”_

“UGH!” Lance grunts, vision watering as he throws the papers out and onto the ground. Wrinkled printed paintings of his thudding against his drawing tablet. Pens and pencils added to the mix, a tube of chapstick, his wallet, his phone, and still no keys, no _fucking_ keys—

“Lance?”

“WHAT!”

Keith stands at the door, stunned at the sight of Lance. Keith’s hair is pulled back in a ponytail, a red shirt snugs tightly against his muscles, and he wears a pair of light grey sweats. Slowly, he registers that he just yelled at Keith, the one person he wants to see right now. Keith takes quick glances between Lance and the mess he made in the hallway.

“I-I’m sorry,” Lance apologizes, not surprised at the crack in his voice. He feels the first of many tears to come trickle down his cheek. “I’m sorry, it’s just I couldn’t—I couldn’t find my keys and I didn’t mean to yell at you, Keith, I’m—”

Within seconds, Lance is pressed against Keith. His hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt and he horridly sobs into the crook of Keith’s neck. One hand soothingly rubs over Lance’s back as the other pets his head.

As much as Lance doesn’t like being alone, he doesn’t like being helpless either. The goal is to be as optimistically real as possible, and that attitude has gotten him through the majority of life. He isn’t some beat down guy who trips and falls over petty obstacles; he’s a force-driven guy who will gladly parkour over anything that gets in his way. But this? This is something on a completely different level. This is a trap set with steel bars, and while his entire arm fits through the spaces in between, he can’t force himself out.

“I’ll pick this up,” Keith says, swiftly taking his messenger bag off Lance’s shoulder, “you go inside.”

Lance nods and enters their apartment. The view that greets him is the same as always: a night skyline with thousands of blues and whites filtering through. No stars still. He sniffles and turns towards the living room, settling himself on the couch. Staring into his reflection on the television screen, Lance sees how his hair sticks up around the sides and the residue shine from the tears stained on his face.

The door closes behind Keith. Lance leans back and watches him walk over to the couch. Situating himself next to him, Keith takes his hand. Lance keeps his eyes on them, pale skin against tan, too afraid to look at Keith and break down again.

“Lance, talk to me,” he pleads, gentle and troubled. “Please.”

His tone itself forces Lance to switch his attention to him. Keith’s expression is laced with concern, eyebrows slightly arched and eyes telling. Lance is reminded that someone cares, that _Keith_ cares. Keith cares about Lance, happy-go-lucky kid with a love for a lot of miscellaneous things, with a scar that’s replaced his back, a sense of humor everyone but Keith tires of, with a longing for the stars he didn’t realize he had until he had to revisit them again. Keith wants to hear his worries and support him through it all. He choose to do this years ago on a spaceship and Lance _needed_ it, _needed_ him the same way Keith did.

“They didn’t like my work,” Lance admits. His lips quiver with each word. “I didn’t follow what they wanted. I got the characters all wrong, the atmosphere all wrong, everything my job _asks_ of me was done all _wrong._ The company wanted some sugar-coated version of space and I couldn’t give it to them.”

“Wait, space?” Keith holds his hand a little tighter. Sensitive topic for the both of them. “Lance, you don’t… _we_ don’t—”

“I know,” he tries hiding the shaking of his voice but fails. “I know but it’s my _job_ Keith. I can’t just tell them I won’t do it. I had so much trouble painting those pieces. I had to go back and relive our time as Voltron so it could turn out authentic but I didn’t want to relive it, I didn’t want to remember it again. Space is some horrible monster and they wanted me to depict it differently. And then I had to paint those stupid stars, those stupid _fucking_ stars and it was the hardest thing and I don’t know why, Keith, I don’t know why.”

 _Helpless,_ Lance’s mind echoes, and his systems break again. He’s pulled back into the crook of Keith’s neck, nestled against his steady pulse and soft skin. This is one of his favorite places in the world. In his saddest hours, in the midst of his laughter, in heated intimate moments, there’s no place he’d rather be.

“It’s alright,” he whispers in his ear. “I’m here for you. Always am.”

They stay like that for an hour or so, Keith distracting him with stories from work and Lance giggling into his skin. Lance feels himself dozing off into sleep and Keith does him the favor of carrying him to bed. He shuts the curtains, helps Lance change into comfortable clothes, and curls up against him like he does every night.

 

******

 

If there’s one word to describe Keith that isn’t extremely biased by Lance’s love for him, it’d be “impulsive.” Lance does a grade A job of keeping that at bay in extreme situations, but he also takes pleasure in the fact that Keith does impulsive, love-driven things just for him.

Lance only hopes that right now, in the passenger seat of their SUV, with the backseat holding a basket of food his boyfriend mysteriously prepared, this is just another impulsive, love-driven Keith thing.

They’ve been on the road for nearly two hours now. The sun is still up, shining a muted orange upon the city, but will start setting in about half an hour. Small businesses zoom by as Keith drives down the strangely empty streets. Thankfully, when Lance is in the car, Keith doesn’t drive as recklessly or fast because, as he famously said, “I care about you, dumbass.”

It has been a week since the concept art fiasco. They decided to take Lance off the project, and rather than breaking his heart in half, it relieved him of so much stress. They’ve moved him to the game geared towards children under the ages of 10, so now he gets to paint fantastical worlds and meadows based on different types of flowers. Yet, the view of the city’s sky still haunts him and Keith has more than once pulled him away from the window.

“Can’t you tell me where you’re taking me?” Lance asks, lowering the soft alternative music Keith has playing.

“I thought you would have figured it out by now,” Keith says. “I’m taking the same streets I always take.”

“Aw, you think I pay attention to the road when I’m not driving? Stop thinking so highly of me, honey.”

“Then take a wild guess.”

Lance lifts his feet onto the dashboard and ponders. “A park?”

“Nope.”

“Is it, like, secluded?”

“I hope so. It’s a Wednesday.”

“Ooh, a drive-in theater?”

“No, but I’ll put that on the list of date options.”

Lance looks at Keith with a giddy smile. “You have a list?”

Keith can’t do anything to cover his blush. Lance laughs and leans over to kiss it, then holds his hand on the gear shift.

“Such a romantic,” Lance says. “Are we almost there at least?”

“Yeah, give it ten or so more minutes.”

Lance nods and takes out his phone, scrolling through his socials and responding to texts he’s been ignoring all day. He takes a couple of pictures and videos of Keith, who makes silly faces at the camera when he can. He posts a few to show off and saves the majority in his gallery. Keith hums along with his music, and when they’re at red lights, the corner of Lance’s eyes catch him smiling at him. His heart pitter-patters in his chest to the rhythm of his singing.

Keith takes a sharp turn into a vacant parking lot. Lance looks up from his phone to be welcomed by the expanse of a sandy beach, high waves crashing against a shore empty of people, and sun projecting hues of yellow, orange, and red over the ocean. Seagulls soar in the sky, dipping down into the water for a snack before night falls. Lance gapes at the sight. When was the last time he went to a beach on Earth? He can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter now. He feels right at home.

Keith parks the car. Before he can even explain himself, Lance climbs over to him and kisses him _hard,_ hands entangling between the raven strands and pulling Keith impossibly close. Keith holds him by the shoulders and kisses him back, lips seaming perfectly together. He can’t stop smiling, can’t stop grinning like a fool in love and Lance, too, is a fool in love, and he can’t stop either. He moves to kiss him all over his grinning face, Keith emanating a contagious laugh which echoes in the confines of their SUV. Music to his ears.

“So you like it?” Keith sarcastically asks, running his hands down Lance’s arms till they reach his hands.

“I love you so much, Keith Kogane,” the words hush rapidly out of Lance. “Did you know that? I love you. I can say it to you over and over again.”

Keith gifts him a crooked smile. “You’re the only one I’d ever do this for.”

“Really? I’m the only boy you’ve ever taken to the beach?”

“You’d be surprised. Get off of me so we can enjoy this for a bit.”

Lance opens the door on Keith’s side and slips out, letting his eyes close and the beach breeze flow through his hair. A smile creeps on his face. He’s suddenly reminded of all the shores he’s had the pleasure of walking on and the different oceans he’s stepped in. He feels like none of them will beat the experience of today, which hasn’t even started.

Keith takes out the woven basket and slings a packed floral bag over his shoulder. Locking the car, he lightly pushes Lance in the direction of beach. Lance takes his warm hand and quickly drags him toward the sand.

“Someone’s excited,” Keith chuckles. Lance turns back to see a smile that replaces the setting sun in the sky. Butterflies return to his stomach all at once and is this Lance’s prize for saving the universe? Keith’s infectious smile, glittered over by the sun’s final rays, at a beach left to themselves? It’s almost too good to be true.

“Sure am, Mullet.”

Lance chucks his shoes off and buries his toes in the sand. It’s not searing hot, but it’s enough to keep him moving to avoid a burn.

“I’m gonna lay this down, you go ahead,” Keith says as he struggles to lift his shoes through the sand.

“You’ll join me there after, right?” he questions. The last time he and Keith were at a beach alone was on a planet somewhere deep in space. It could have been romantic if their mutated crabs weren’t mean fellows who snapped at them too much. Lance wants to have a redo of that.

“Of course.”

With that confirmed, Lance runs to the sea. He rolls his jeans above his knee and lets the water wash over his feet. It’s more cold than warm, but bearable for him. Foam tingles against his skin. The feeling is euphoric—the past ten minutes have been—and a childish need to take a step deeper takes over him. Lance lets the water reach a little ways past the cuffs of his pants. The last of the sun lightly beats against his skin.

“Lance.”

Lance looks over his shoulder to find Keith knee-deep in the water, hidden behind his phone, presumably snapping a photo of Lance. He laughs and strides toward him as Keith continues to press the shutter.

“Put that away!” Lance says. “It’s gonna get all ruined!”

“Need a new lock screen,” Keith argues, taking a step back with each step Lance takes forward, “and a matching home one!”

“Knowing you, you’ll drop it in the water then complain about having to get a new one.”

Keith takes two Ziploc bags out of his back pocket and flashes a smile. “It’ll be fine, babe.”

“You have to let us take selfies too then. Lots of them.”

A known selfie-hater, Keith groans but indulges Lance per usual. Because he’s never been the best person to get a good angle, Lance, a self-proclaimed selfie master, takes his phone and flips the camera. Keith’s fingers press into his hips and pull Lance back against his torso. The ocean calmly pools around them and the sun has lowered beyond the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pinks and purples. Both of them smile at the camera as Lance takes the picture. They move a bit to change the lighting and Lance stumbles against Keith’s feet, screeching and almost landing face first into the water before Keith catches him by the waist. Lance stares at his reflection, then looks behind him to see his ridiculous boyfriend biting back a laugh.

“Don’t laugh,” Lance warns with deep breaths. “ _Don’t_.”

Keith breaks and muffles his laughter in Lance’s shoulder. Defeated, Lance sighs and lets himself laugh too. His finger is still pressed against the shutter, meaning he’s taken several burst shots of the two. He smiles at that and continues to take selfies, hoping Keith will appreciate the accidental candid shots. After a couple minutes, Keith takes his phone back and zips it into the plastic bag, which he then zips into another plastic bag for added protection.

“You know that doesn’t guarantee your phone will be safe from the water, right?” Lance turns to face him and wraps his arms around Keith’s neck.

He pouts in response, but continues to stuff his phone in his back pocket. Then he devilishly smirks. “Have a little faith.”

A quick kick under his feet has Lance and Keith toppling into the ocean. Cold water greets his dry skin and soaks through his clothes. He’s still gripping Keith close to him and manages to pull the both of them back to the surface. The waves have carried them further in and now their waists are completely submerged.

“You should have seen the look on your face,” Keith manages between laughs. “You didn’t even see it coming.”

Sunlight dances in the specs of Keith’s purple eyes to the melody of the waves crashing. His wet bangs have parted on his forehead and Lance takes the opportunity to kiss the sliver of skin he hardly gets to see. Keith can’t help the boyish smile playing on his lips, the way it reaches his eyes and cracks his cool love-struck demeanor. Lance slots this exact moment—the smell of the sea, the luminosity of the beach, the strong hands keeping him grounded in rapid waters rather than aflorat, everything about Keith—into his memories, makes it stand out against all the good and bad, and locks it up. Nothing in the world could make him want to forget this.

“You’re crazy,” Lance whispers just as he captures his salty lips in his. He kisses him tenderly, like time won’t make the sky turn to black and the moon won’t force the ocean to carry them into its depths. Lance pours every emotion tugging at his chest into this kiss so Keith knows without words what he means. What _this_ means. No part of him would ever want to keep this impulsive side of him at bay. It’s one of his favorite things about Keith. They’re not in space anymore. There isn’t an impulse to dive head first into a battle, there’s an impulse to dive head first into the water. There’s an impulse to drive his boyfriend for over two hours to a secluded beach and pretend they’re the only two people walking the earth. This is more than Lance could ever ask for and yet he has it, has it at his fingertips and in his home and right beside him.

Keith reluctantly separates them when the sky begins to dim. Each lazy step out of the water brings goosebumps to their skin. Lance shivers and scoots closer to Keith, who puts his arm over his shoulder. “I brought extra clothes, don’t worry,” he tells him.

They change as quickly as possible, even though no one is around to see them, and settle against the towel laid out on the sand. Both are in their baggiest pair of sweatpants and sporting Garrison sweatshirts with a long blanket wrapped around their shoulders. Keith takes out the food he prepared from the basket and sets it out in front of them.

“You made _Korean_ food for me?” Lance is surprised. Keith has always had trouble making Korean food, constantly thinking he’s doing it wrong (and, granted, sometimes he’s right about that) and sulking about it. He’s gotten much better at it though, and the spicy rice cakes and _kimbap_ in front of them has a lot to say. Personal favorites of Lance, and the recipes Keith has so far mastered. His heart warms at the effort Keith has put into this day. “What else do you have hidden up your sleeve?”

“Hot chocolate.” Casually, Keith takes out a thermos from the basket, two ceramic mugs, and pours them their drinks. Lance almost scoffs at how good he is at being romantic. “And something else. You’ll see.”

Forks in hand, they dig in and watch the horizon lose its light in silence. Lance finds Keith’s hand and holds it in his, snuggling closer to him and resting his head on his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long for them to finish up. Both were starving and Keith admits he made too little, then promises to make more tomorrow. Lance, for once, curls up against Keith with an added blanket on top of their lying figures. Keith hums the song playing in the car earlier. The moon’s soft light gleams over the two of them.

“My last surprise is here,” Keith mentions. “Look up. Don’t want you to miss it.”

Blue eyes meet a sky full of stars.

Lance sits up to spectate at it all. Thousands of white orbs burn at their brightest, cluttered amongst one another like birds of a feather. Not a single city light refuses them of existence here. His mind takes him back to Cuba, to Florida, to Arizona, to space. He thinks of the soulless time spent gazing outside his windows, looking for something that wasn’t there and discovering he misses the stars. Stars were his last reminder of the good times in his life.

Keith kisses his temple and gazes up with him. “You said you missed the stars,” he says. “Thought I’d bring you to them.”

When Lance looks at him, it’s with tears blurring the edges of his vision. A small smile forms on Keith’s lips and he hugs him tight. Lance lightly laughs against him.

“You’re amazing,” Lance says. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Lance.”

He lies them down and pulls up the blanket. Stargazing together on a secluded beach has always sounded too ideal. And here Lance is with his thoughtful boyfriend, doing _just_ that. Doing the impossible again and again. It’s their thing, isn’t it?

There’s a sereneness in the cool air, the sand beneath the towel, the warmth of their bodies, and observing their world’s stars. It’s something otherworldly—Lance is surprised to find _this_ kind of freedom here, even after traveling the universe. But he has it with Keith. With Keith who consistently fails at hiding a blush, who says “I love you” with actions more so than with words, who prefers canyons and valleys over beaches and water.

He’s overwhelmed and finds himself reminiscing.

“Remember when we were floating alone in space,” Lance brings up, “and we had to say ‘sound off’ or whatever?”

“I do.”

“I was terrified back then. It was just us and vast space. The team and the stars. The stars were always somewhere with me. Even in Florida I could see a few. But holding everyone’s arm, with the stars all around us, I thought we were gonna die. I didn’t think anybody would come for us and the last thing I’d see was the last thing that came with me from Earth.”

Keith’s hand soothingly rubs over Lance’s upper arm. “I think I snapped at you.”

“You did. And we were already dating so I was mad and snapped back.”

They laugh against one another, still looking up at the stars. He wants to ask him another question burning at the back of his throat, but he’s nervous about the response Keith will elicit. Lance wants to talk about it too. About how he feels, but he’s afraid. Then again, they’ve come this far. Keith’s done _this_ much. It’d be absurd if Lance didn’t trust him.

“Do you miss space?” Lance asks.

Keith stays silent. Lance’s fingers nervously tap Keith’s chest.

“I do,” Lance confesses instead, “but in a different way. I miss how much I loved it. It was the reason I fought so hard to get into the Garrison, studied night and day to pass the entrance exam and get into a flight simulation. I wanted to _fly,_ Keith, soar the skies and see the universe. Then when I got the chance, it wasn’t how I expected it. I was fighting for my life. I couldn’t go back home. I miss how I felt about space, like it was some kind of, I don’t know, _God._ I miss wanting to be in it. I’ve lost interest in something I loved because the war and suffering ruined it all. Drawing it made me recognize how much I hate that fact and how much it hurts me. So, when I see the stars, it’s a symbol for the past I miss.”

Lance glazes over the multitude of stars. He sighs and, with heavy hesitation, looks over to Keith. Their eyes meet, Lance’s filled with trepidation and Keith’s riddled with sympathy.

“Sometimes you let me talk too much.”

“I think I let you talk just enough,” Keith says, wrapping his arms under Lance’s and pulling him up closer to his face. Lance nuzzles into the crook of his neck and breathes in his salty sweet scent. “I miss flying more than anything. The feeling of flying in a loop, escaping things at high speeds. Fucking shit up and all. Can’t do that here without paying a fine or jail time.”

Lance snorts and lifts his head up. “You junkie.”

Keith brushes his brown locks out of the way. “You know you can always talk to me about anything. I can bring you here whenever you want, all you have to do is ask. I’m here for you.”

They’re Lance’s favorite words. “I love you” is something he’s always been sure of. Hell, Keith has loved Lance for longer than Lance has loved Keith. Not a single ounce of doubt can be found in those three words. It’s Lance who’s always had trouble finding people who were there for him. All the people in the world could listen to him babble on, but he could never be certain any of them would truly take his word or care enough to stay. It wasn’t until Keith came around and put the words into existence, directed “I’m here for you” at Lance, for him to believe it.

Perhaps it was because Keith, too, has trouble with trust. He’s afraid of his loved ones leaving him, but Lance staying this long has proved his fear wrong. Keith needed someone and Lance barged into his life like an angel adorned with wings and a halo. Lance needed someone and Keith hid in the corners until he turned the light switch on.

“Thank you,” Lance whispers for only him to hear. “Thank you for today, for yesterday, for tomorrow, for whatever’s ahead, for it all.”

He leans down to kiss him, kind and caring, and Keith returns it all the same.

Stars have followed him till here. From his town in Cuba, to his family in Florida, to the campus of the Garrison, and to the space he’s left behind. Keith has done so similarly. From a barren Arizona desert, to the galaxy that’s theirs, and to the city they’re still getting familiar with. Keith’s his new star.

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year!!! thank you for reading!  
> this piece was actually kinda difficult to write for sometimes it got too personal but it's here and that's really what matters. i've been to florida once, and it was an entire week spent at disneyworld, so i had no idea what the hell i was writing there lol. anyways, my main resolution this year is to post **way more** writing, including this lil series and hopefully a big fic. i'll be writing klance until another ship decides to drag my lifeless body away from them.  
> just a note that the works in this series are most likely not going to be connected unless otherwise noted. just lil fics here and there based off songs, ultimately creating a playlist of sorts.
> 
> again, thank you for reading! comments make my day, so even if its just a couple of words, i'd greatly appreciate it if you leave one! kudos are just as loved and welcomed too :)
> 
> come follow me on my social(s)! please be my friend jhkskfhskjhsfd:  
> twitter: [@riverdancee](twitter.com/riverdancee)  
> (and a tumblr of the same name but idk how to use tumblr still someone teach me)


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